Hysteria
by coffeelatte
Summary: Apparently, Malfoys tended to get a bit dramatic over the smallest of Muggle flus - and Harry finds out the hard way, as usual. HPDM, fluff, oneshot.


**A/N: **Hello hello - just me again, back with more HPDM fluff, as usual. Read and review!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter.

* * *

"Harry- Harry! _Harry_-"

Green eyes blinked into focus, head quirking upwards to stare at a shock of flaming red hair. From a mere few inches away, Ron Weasley's freckled hand waved back and forth, back and forth in front of Harry's face, worry clear in his eyes. "Mate, hurry up, would you? 'Mione won't be very happy if we're late to dinner," Ron mumbled, rushing back to pack his things from the office for the day.

Harry paused, as though reality were only just now catching up, and blinked a few times to get his mind back in focus. His eyes wandered straight back to the window, as though longing for the vision of Hedwig flying back with a note – but no white owl fluttered at the window, nor the telltale signs of Draco Malfoy's dignified eagle.

A few more seconds of staring seemed to reassure Harry that no message was coming tonight, and his shoulders sagged in disappointment.

Ron paused in the middle of draping his Auror robes on for the trip home. "Mate – is everything okay?"

Harry's green eyes turned towards his friends, brows furrowed and lines set deep within his forehead. "It's just- Draco," he managed, before Ron sighed explosively. If Harry hadn't been so worried-slashed-saddened, he'd have rolled his eyes at Ron's constant theatrics towards Harry's latest relationship.

Relationship – was that the right word for it, even?

After the Wizarding War had drawn to a close with Harry's defeat of Voldemort, the world seemed to go on, as usual, with the masses adoring Harry as they always did. The Golden Boy, the Saviour, the Hero Harry joined the Aurors' ranks, bright-eyed and with a stark believe in the value of 'justice,' as always, with Ron steadfastly by his side. The Golden Trio went on about their business, doing their best to ignore the ridiculous papers, forever laughing with one another by their sides; Ron and Hermione had gotten married just last year, and had set about forever pestering Harry to find _someone_.

Someone, because he and Ginny had worked out just as well as about a pair of bad-tempered kneazles would have; they were different people, Harry realized all too soon, who wanted different things from different people. And, well, Ginny was a _girl, _something that had slapped Harry across the face when his own sexuality had come to light to himself, and to his friends.

His friends, as always, had been lovingly accepting (though Ron took a little persuading, forever attempting to fool himself into thinking it was all a _phase_) – and had set about nudging him towards _more_ people, this time of the male gender.

But Harry was Harry, and he took a while to find somebody he liked – and when it turned out to be Draco bleeding Malfoy, well, the Wizarding World just about snapped its neck in trying to catch a glimpse of the infamous couple. Draco Malfoy had, quite literally, stumbled into his world on a particularly crowdy day in Knockturn Alley, dressed to kill and gorgeous features glittering in the daylight. He, as Harry found, had become _quite_ the charmer in the four years since Hogwarts; name redeemed after switching sides towards the end of the war, and with a vault with more money than most of the Wizarding World combined still, Harry only had seen Malfoy splattered across the pages of famous tabloids and newspapers.

Until then.

A rushing mother had pushed Draco aside in her haste, straight into Harry – and Harry, being the ever-noble Gryffindor, stumbled to catch the falling man; grey eyes blinked into green, and what happened after that was much too sickening and sweet for Ron Weasley to ever handle in his life.

Harry had never thought that he'd be waltzing throughout London's restaurants and bars and streets with _Draco Malfoy_ – but then again, he'd never thought of Draco as beautiful, or wonderful, or witty or worldly or _perfect_ before then, either. But now he did, and he couldn't ever look at him in any other way. And for the first time – in perhaps his entire life – Harry had been wholly, completely, madly _happy_, and nothing else.

Because Draco Malfoy was something he'd chosen for himself – no stupid prophecy to fulfill, no goddamn evil lord after his life, no obligations. No, Draco was _Harry's_, and he'd never been so unbelievably happy.

Ron, much to Harry's surprise, hadn't been angry – but rather, he seemed to take in stride. He just, you know, had to leave the room for the first few months when Harry and Draco got a little intimate, face green and muttering obscenities under his breath. He thought the lot of them were nuts, he did, because who in the devil's name went about snogging with their sworn enemy? But Hermione always slapped him across the head for his stupidity in those moments, and Harry only laughed at their antics.

Seven disgustingly romantic months down the line, full of inane, adorable Valentines, blushing firsts, teary first fights and awfully sappy makeups- nothing. Literally, nothing.

Draco Malfoy had disappeared from Harry Potter's life for the past two weeks, and Harry was at a complete and utter loss. He'd sent just about a hundred letters, he was sure, only to have none of them replied to. Perhaps, he'd wondered with a sinking heart – perhaps Draco had realized that he couldn't be with someone like Harry, after all; Harry, who wasn't as cultured or pure-blooded or brought up knowing which fork of the bloody six to use at formal tables-

Harry, who wasn't good with anything at all, awkwardly stumbling around, trying to figure out what it was that Draco wanted.

He found himself utterly miserable with Draco suddenly gone from his life without so much of an explanation, and it was pathetic, really, how _heartbroken_ he was feeling, but-

Just then, Draco's tell-tale silver-winged falcon arrived at his window, a thin note held between an imperially curved beak. Frantically, Harry all but sprinted to the window, grappling with the hook and finally opening the damn thing-

The bird promptly dropped the cream-colored card into Harry's waiting hand before flying off rapidly, as it always did.

'Potter – perhaps we should take a break,' the note read in swirling golden writing.

Harry felt his stomach give out from the bottom, before- before irritation bubbled up from within, and his lips pressed into a thin line.

Ron shuffled on over, peeking at the note before grimacing. "Er, mate," he began, in his sad attempt to cheer Harry up.

"Sorry, Ron – I don't think I can go to dinner."

And before Ron could even reply, Harry had Disapparated with a sound 'pop!'.

* * *

When Draco felt the slight beginnings of a tremor in the marble flooring of his manor, he stirred from his sleep, a deep frown set in his features. When grey eyes flitted open, they were rimmed slightly in red from the faint tears from earlier that day; as the shaking grew stronger, silver hues popped wide open, and Draco sat up abruptly in bed.

What in Merlin's name-

And then, a fierce panic seized Draco as realization hit his head; someone was trying to break through the wards- damn cowards, just when his parents were out of the country on their fifth honeymoon, too. With narrowed eyes and clenched teeth, Draco slipped out of bed, wand in hand – he may simply be a business tycoon now (and terribly good at it, too), but damn the intruder if he thought that Draco Malfoy had lost his touch at magic.

Fuck Voldemort and his grey skinned ass, Draco still knew a few good curses-

-but when he hurried to the main foyer, he found himself gripping the staircase banister for support, as though the breath had been knocked from his chest. Green eyes, brilliant and glowing with something he couldn't quite put a finger on, gazed steadily at Draco.

And then, Draco promptly whirled around with his back to Harry, heart in his throat. "Ha- Potter. Pray, tell me – why in Salazar's name have you come _invading_ my home in such a brute manner at such an hour?"

"Draco." was all Harry said, but it was enough to make Draco's heart beat a little faster, skipping a few beats entirely.

"Draco, look at me."

The blonde refused. Instead, he forced a small voice out of his throat: "What do you want, Potter – I'm sure I made it rather clear in my note-"

"Damnit, Draco – I said _look at me_!" The sheer force and will behind Harry's words shook the crystal chandeliers overhead, and once again, Draco marveled at the other's power. But then, he caught himself, and his pale hands turned white as he clenched the banister.

"No."

"Look, you insufferable prat," Harry finally growled, all temper spiraling out of his control. "I don't understand what I did or said, but this is ridiculous; if you don't want to see me anymore, or hate me, or just plain despise me, just _say so_, but don't do some cowardly hiding-"

"I don't hate you," Draco mumbled meekly, then, subdued by Harry's evident anger.

"Then so help me god, _turn around and look at me_-"

"_No!_" This time, Draco's cry was so distressed that it made Harry's eyes snap wide open, heart stilling for a moment. Draco clutched at the banister with both hands, now, eyes burning with unshed tears, lower lip wobbling-

"Draco," Harry murmured, more softly then. "Please. Will you turn around?"

"I said _no_, Ha- Potter," Draco shrieked, stomping his foot. "You can't see me right now!"

Harry's eyes widened in bewilderment. "What?"

Draco's entire form seemed to sag, then, as though the energy had simply left him in one fell swoop. "Just go away, P-Potter." He heard the telltale pop sound of a disapparition, and felt the tears prickle at his eyes even more; he'd told Harry to leave, but now that he actually had, it seemed to make the ache in his chest throb a little harder-

"Draco," he heard that familiar, baritone voice murmur close to his ear, shocking his heard into rapid beats- and before he could even move, he felt himself being twirled around to face Harry.

At the sight of Harry's familiar disheveled dark hair and chiseled jaw and burning green eyes, Draco felt his legs weakening again – damnit all, Malfoys didn't _get_ like this over stupid Gryffindor heros; he really was a failure as a Malfoy, he mused in the back of his mind. But the realization that Harry was _looking at him_ had Draco biting his lip and widening his eyes in a terror, heart stilling for a moment-

"Don't- don't look at me," he finally whispered brokenly, tears beginning to slip down his cheeks.

And horrified at the sight of Draco's crying, Harry was suddenly at a loss – he'd been ready to demand answers when he'd first approached Draco, but simply at his tears, he felt himself growing terrified. Because really, it wasn't a secret that Harry Potter was completely and irrevocably, head-over-heels infatuated with the youngest Malfoy; it was common knowledge to all of their friends that Harry would bend over backwards if meant only a smile from Malfoy's lips.

"Draco- oh, gods, I'm sorry, what did I do? I'm so sorry love, please don't cry, you know I can't stand it when you do- oh my god, Draco, I'm so sorry, please tell me what I have to do to make it right again," Harry began to babble, stricken when Draco only cried harder.

"Stop looking at me! This stupid bleeding muggle flu is making me red and puffy and _ugly_ and now you won't want me anymore and-" Draco sobbed, hands coming up to clamp over his features.

"_What_?" Harry breathed, in utter shock, eyes wide.

Draco cried _harder_ at that. "I knew it! I knew you'd break up with me if you saw me like this! Fine, you arsehole, go on and leave – I'm ugly and bloated and just _red all over_ and all this snot is disgusting and- and-"

Draco never got to finish his last words, because he found himself crushed to a hard, muscled chest (the one that he was so particularly fond of), Harry's arms wrapped tightly around his thinner form. He felt Harry's lips pressed against the top of his head, and Draco froze. "…H-Harry?" was muffled by Harry's shirt, and his arms simply tightened around Draco's body.

"Draco, you can be such an idiot sometimes," Harry sighed.

Draco made an affronted noise from the back of his throat, and this time, his hands had come to clutch faintly at the back of Harry's shirt.

"Draco, why the hell would I leave you for such a _senseless reason_? And to begin with, you're still gorgeous, Draco, I don't even know what the hell you're going on about to begin with," Harry sighed again, leaning back to peer with amusement into Draco's features.

His nose was bright red (Harry snickered in the back of his mind as the tune of the muggle Christmas song, Rudolph, played), as were his eyes from his tears – which he suspected began before Harry had even gotten to Draco's manor; he'd probably cried as he wrote that ambiguous note, even. But Draco – this small, insecure Draco, who didn't want to show Harry his sick form in case Harry found it undesirable – made him all the more adorable to Harry's eyes.

"You're lying," Draco mumbled crossly, voice thick with tears and congestion.

Harry kissed the tip of Draco's nose, smiling broadly as the realization that _no_, Draco was not leaving him – quite the contrary, actually. "I'm not," he murmured, green eyes glittering fondly at Draco.

"But I'm all ugly and red," Draco protested.

"But you're still beautiful, as always – and I'd love you even if you weren't, Draco."

And at _that_, Draco's heart promptly stopped, his eyes wide as they stared at Harry. "Y-You love me?" he asked breathlessly, hands clutching at Harry's elbows. Harry paused for a moment, too, before laughing and wrapping his arms around Draco's thin waist.

"Of course I do, silly – didn't you already know that?"

Draco went off crying again, but this time, for an entirely different reason – apparently, wizards got a little emotional when afflicted with the muggle flu, too. But hell if Harry gave a buggering shite.

**- EL FIN -**

**REVIEW!**


End file.
